


Taken

by wittywords



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: M/M, Sexual Harassment, Slash, cullen needs to be comforted, dorian plays a knight in shining armour, projecting past trauma into present
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-04
Updated: 2018-08-29
Packaged: 2019-01-08 20:16:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,812
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12261348
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wittywords/pseuds/wittywords
Summary: When the Orlesian nobles at the Winter Palace Ball become too aggressive in their pursuit of the Inquisition Commander, Dorian is forced to try on the rescuing role.





	1. Chapter 1

Dorian from the prestigious House of Pavus Qarinus had been located inelegantly drowned in a bowl of spiked punch at the cultural centre of the Orlesian Empire. Provided how much this situation brought about nostalgia of the long lost home, the Tevinter mage wouldn't have minded this outcome. The pleasure was almost vicious at how heartbrokenly his family would have weathered the scandalous smudge on their reputation. 

The crimson substance in a goblet he had been nursing whispered how absurdly much the Inquisitor demanded of him by ordering Dorian to stay away from its foul intoxicating designs. At least he had the choice of retreat into the garden, refusing to witness in miserable sobriety the besotted oohhss and aaahhhs stalking the fetching, golden haired Inquisition Commander across the ballroom. His disdain had obviously risen due to the overwhelmingly poor Orlesian taste. How could anyone ignore a striking Tevinter mage in possession of charm and finesse manners? And how dared they make such forward advances, he dared not assume after a month of entertaining the evening chess games with the Commander in such a chaste manner that could have made a secluded Chantry boy seem the sinner? 

While his newly encountered ability of self-control and reservation still astounded Dorian, it was strained unbearably when a legion of the richly dressed coquettes batted their eyelashes and chimed whether they could please the Commander with a glass of wine, a dance or a shoulders massage, mixing an alluring lilt into their voices as they laughed at any of his responses even those of the stiff rejection. For how long would Cullen be saying no to those offers until he'd succumb to the call of one of those beautiful women? Dorian had no desire to wait and find out. Twirling across the ballroom, she would slip an arm around his waist, drown him in a cloud of sweet, mind fogging perfume, let her hand travel lower. Dorian shuddered and glared into his drink viciously before raising the glass to his lips. 

"Cullen is afraid. They're hunting him. Following Fear. He shouldn't be here." 

Dorian barely saved his glass from escaping his grasp and shattering against the tiles. Dread sunk claws into his insides as he regarded the young man in a vain attempt to catch a glimpse of the spirit's face underneath the wide hat rim. 

"Why are you telling me this?" he choked out, cursing the blessed naivety of the friendly spirits who assumed they could do no harm by casually slipping into human minds and exposing their dreariest secrets to the world. If the allegations were true, surely someone else like the Inquisitor was better qualified to resolve the trouble peacefully before the fireballs got involved. 

The young man regarded him with a mystical bleakness before resolving this inquiry called for no response and melting into thin air. This left no alternative to the Tevinter mage but to toss aside his drink and swiftly stride up the stairs towards the ballroom, heart thundering with each footstep louder and louder.


	2. Chapter 2

"Carry on." 

Commander Cullen suppressed an irrational impulse to reach for her hand as the Inquisitor departed to search for more clues. However short, her presence vacated the space around him, granting reprieve from a pack of the Orlesian nobles who followed him as soon as the Commander set foot into the glittering ballroom. He couldn't phantom what was so intriguing about his person that caused them to single him out, while Leliana and Josephine were respectively left alone in their corners to keep watch for any shady activity. At first, Cullen suspected a plot to keep him from assisting the Inquisitor in exposing the guilty party, soon admitting that as effective as the excessive attention was in distracting him, there was no evident link between any of the people whose sole focus revolved around stuffing him full of biscuits and lemonade, which he kept rejecting along with a number of other not so virtuous offers.

Admittedly, a refreshment would have been welcome. The ever lingering signs of the lyirum withdrawal burned under his skin and Cullen relied on drinking water rather often. Except, a naive mabari pup suffering no paranoia would have been wary of accepting anything from the hands of his followers when the entire atmosphere whispered drugged beverages and deceit.

No matter. Being parched was a tolerable inconvenience when he had a job to do. Commander was more concerned about being cornered against the wall, arms crossed over his chest. What started as a moderate annoyance gradually progressed into a situation that was making him distinctly uncomfortable. The simplest inquiries were designed as excuses to lean into his personal space, nearer and nearer, until he could feel the speakers' breath on his cheek, the compliments led to not so accidental touches. Subtly, he kept dodging them, stepping out of their reach only to have his private space invaded over and over, close enough for the scented bodily oils to swarm his senses as the touches became increasingly lingering on his hips, shoulders... Cullen nearly jumped when cool fingers brushed the back of his neck and snaked into his hair.

Maker's Breath he hoped the Inquisitor would soon complete the investigation. Where were all the assassins and demons when you needed them? Turn it all action and sword to escape the encroaching prison of the sickly sweet words and smothering perfumes. How typical it was of the nefarious creatures to lack even minor good virtues such as the courtesy of showing up on time.

It was all too much. The muffled giggles. Eyes refusing to meet eyes across the floor, yet watching mistrustfully. Even the lights reflecting off chandeliers struck the sight like the brittle shards. The entire hall resembled a gilded cage where the air itself was stifling. While he faced deceit openly, so much lay concealed by fake facades.

The masks. They were not real. The mocking imitations of the human form. They wanted to take pleasure without revealing their faces. I know your nature - demon. Let me be. They refused to desist. The creatures were circling him, prompting unbidden memories to slip into his consciousness that intertwined with reality. They were calling on his Templar discipline to push them out, in this chaining more fragments, link after link. 

How did one in noble society negotiate for their release? The Commander was sorely out of his element where even the walls intimidated with heraldry of the ancient houses that originated farther than his knowledge provided. A farm boy raised with the Templars had little experience being inside royal buildings, unless it was the barracks section. While some of the churches he had attended equalled the castle halls in grandeur, their purpose remained spiritual. He did not wish to offend, falling back on his training and hoping it was sufficient. As the Templars were expected to search for information in order to conduct maleficar investigations at every social level, their schooling included classes on proper behaviour. While it hopefully kept him from the embarrassment, this hardly made him an expert. The Orlesian court had unique etiquette where each step was an act of balancing on a tip of a blade with gossip eagerly sinking its teeth into reputation at the slightest waver. The Commander was resolved on giving warmongers no cause to claim that Inquisition hired ill-mannered simpletons. He owed the Inquisitor that much.

Outside the court it was easy to refuse the persistent lechers by slamming a shield against the particularly dense offender's jaw to dissuade their wandering hands. In the foreign environment, aside from saying, 'No, thank you.' Cullen wasn't sure how else to decline the unwanted advances diplomatically. When he tried to openly challenge one of the more aggressive groupings, the Lady giggled flirtatiously without a sign of repentance like it was no shameful or least frowned upon gesture, which stunned him back into silence. The woman was in her element doing what he blushed to pronounce. Cullen risked not pushing this issue by casting it into negative light for the fear of causing a scandal the Inquisition could ill afford. The last thing they needed was to have their Commander evicted from the Hall in disgrace for causing a disturbance. He had to endure it as duty commanded and remain where he was.

The suggestive giggling was building up in his temples, resolving in a dull ache. At some point his arms fell away from his chest and weakness sipped into his limbs like a slow poison corroding defences. 

"Are you married?"

While he stood close to the wall, another person was leaning against it. It was disturbing to be regarded from the back. If someone was at your back, they were hunting you. A reply that he was taken but not engaged promoted promising laughter. He heard this merriment before. It was the kind when his jailor knew their toy could not escape the bonds and it was only a matter of time before the desire demons could claim what they wanted down to a drop in a pool of blood where his friends were tortured to death, mentors he had known since he was eight years old. 

The high uniform collar snaked restrictively against his throat. Cullen wanted to pry the top button open, recoiling at how provocative that would seem. It was not wise to reveal a chink in his armour. He must have paled because a distant voice asked if he wanted a glass of water.

"No. Thank you. I am well."

His own voice came brittle from afar. It was the type of polite reply that meant the opposite. Allowing the composure to slip even for a moment was inexcusable and Cullen forced some expression of gratitude. In spite of the mind's instruction to maintain straight posture, his body moved to lean against the wall, hopefully casually. 

Stop. I need to breathe. Skin crawling with knowledge that all this circling inevitably leads to an abominable touch. I don't want to remember. You may trap me foul creature, but you won't break my mind. Be gone! I will not succumb to your vile charms. Why? Why wouldn't they be gone?

The situation was growing unbearable with the amounting stress. Spinning of out control as the mind slipped back and forth. And then it was broken by a familiar voice like that of the ice cubes swirling inside a champagne glass, comforting in its biting defensiveness. 

Dorian cut through the rising panic.

"Commander..."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Thanksgiving Day from Canada! ;D


	3. Chapter 3

Dorian forwarded his most illustrious grin, smoothly gliding into the wasp nest with the reckless abandonment of an offender set on robbing them blind. 

"How fortunate I am to find and expropriate you, issuing my gushing apologies to the finesse company keeping you." The mage's smile intensified at the palpable hiss of the hairpins being secretively unwound to be jammed into his neck.

"Truly? You intend to abduct the finest guest without as much as an explanation?" One of the Ladies chimed, stretching out a manicured hand to grasp Cullen's shoulder. 

Dorian captured the limb under the guise of a surfaced kiss. "Call me brash, but exceedingly charming and handsome." 

He squeezed her hand a notch too tight and her nails sunk into his palm over the veneer smiles. 

"Don't keep the Commander away for too long. Least this crime, finely served as it is, will be rectified by us seeking him out anew." 

While there was no outward sign from the Commander, Dorian sensed a revulsion tremor upon the honey delivered promise. 

"Please, excuse us, " the Commander clipped taking off after Dorian whose relentless energy cut through the group like a bolt of lightening. Cullen's shoulders were steeled against the eyes lingering on the retreating couple. 

As they left behind the cozy atmosphere willing to hex the Tevinter mage into the Fade, Dorian's mind swirled in search of a safe refuge. Regardless oh his distress, the Commander wasn't going to venture far from his post. With that in mind, Dorian took a steep left onto the first unoccupied balcony and not standing on ceremony closed he door tossing a locking spell on it for good measure. With the blossoming bushes around it, the spot was relatively secluded.

"My dear Commander, handsome as you are, I fear the pale look suits no one. I would be much obliged should you be kind enough to sit down," the mage uttered as he nudged a velvet trimmed chair towards the dazed man. His words must have penetrated whichever mire Cullen's thoughts were trapped in because he took the seat shakily. Dorian quickly adjusted the chair since the remaining stoicism went into making it to the balcony with his dignity intact. 

Whoever had the luxury of the private space enjoyed an assortment of drinks. Dorian settled for the crystal water that had bobbing chunks of ice. The mage took a delicate sip to ensure the Game was not removing another competitor. Finding nothing except the liquid making pleasantly cool dent along his insides, he pressed the glass into Cullen's hands. A bit of colour replaced dreadful paleness as the warrior drained the glass a bit of water sloshing over the rim. A few droplets glistened on the scarred lips a faint reminder how the man's soul was scarred. 

With flourish the mage took the liberty to pull another expensive chair over. In no uncertain terms he picked up the blonde's feet and prompted them up since Cullen was far too polite to tempt such a thing. It looked like the collar was suffocating him. The natural shyness was stopping him from touching his clothes.

"Cullen?" the warrior glanced at him a little surprised at how casual and soft the mage modelled his voice. "You needn't impress anyone in my company. I only care about making you comfortable, which is rather difficult if you get suffocated by your clothes. Can you at least open the top button?"

The blond flushed and hesitated. Putting his trust in Dorian, shaky fingers reached for the collar and set it loose enough to breathe easier. The blond looked so vulnerable. He was throwing glances at the locked doors torn by the unwillingness to be subjected to more harassment and pinned by duty dictating him wrong for leaving his post.

"Leliana and Josephine are there. You can trust them to give you a brief reprieve." 

Even if that wasn't entirely settling right, Cullen leaned deeper into the high back chair briefly shutting his eyes. Drenching his handkerchief in cool water, Dorian wiped the blonde's forehead. Cullen opened his eyes surprised, but didn't stop him, allowing the mage to glide the handkerchief gently over his cheeks and chin. What the blond really needed was a cool bath and to rest properly on a soft bed with his boots and most of the clothes off. The image rather than erotic stirred an aching sensation in his chest akin to tenderness and desire to protect the other. 

"Don't even try apologizing. Their admiration went too far," the mage intercepted the attempt to explain himself when the blond cleared his throat nervously. There was more to it for the fear etched into the handsome face had been too palpable. It was unfair to interrogate the blond when he was hurting. "I wish I could blast a grabby hand or two," he added heatedly and then grinned. "I suppose I could." 

"How so?" the ability elicited enough interest in the blond for him to sit up straighter. "Providing it does not inflict any serious injuries," he said hastily. 

"There was once a very crafty mage in Minrathos, exceedingly talented and handsome, as you imagine, who was so wealthy that lots of suitors pined for his hand and other parts they could reach until he brutally crushed his entire family hopes and vanished in the freezing south. In any case, this mage to protect his dignity invented a self-preservation spell that would zap any wandering hands with lightening. Very effective and elegant, I might add," he went quiet remembering one little detail. The blond was now regarding him with too much interest to cut the conversation short. "I... would have to place a hand over the affected area in order to cast it..." Dorian admitted. The last thing he wanted was for the warrior to imagine that he was getting harassed anew. 

Cullen's cheeks went pink and his hands gripped the armrests tight as he considered the words. Dorian dearly hoped the blond wasn't going to leave and put an end to their regular chess games. 

"Would you..." the blonde's voice dropped to a whispered exhale, "cast it anyway?" He squirmed in the seat, looking like he was expecting to be teased. 

Perhaps, under different circumstances Dorian would have. Instead, he just nodded watching as the blond awkwardly removed his feet from the chair and then rose uncertain exactly which posture was best to take. 

"Just relax and stand straight," the mage told him. He stepped closer to the warrior's right side, allowing Cullen to see him and placed one hand over his abdomen. "The enchantment will last a few hours and grow weaker over time," he explained finally setting his hand light on the shapely bottom. The spell was not overly complex for someone who breathed magic. A blue glow where his hands were touching spread and settled into the skin.

"Thank you."

Heaving a deep sigh the blond glanced at the door again. Feeling like there was a nasty cat sharpening its claws on his insides, Dorian released the locks. They both had a job to do. He wished Cullen would get to the end of the evening suffering no more offensive touches nor assassin blades. The mage was determined to make sure of it.


	4. Chapter 4

Nervous? Him? Preposterous! 

For the tenth time Dorian adjusted his impeccably tailored tunic and overcoming an invisible barrier knocked after four abandoned attempts. He merely needed to divulge his impressions over the political outcome in Orlais over a strong beverage with a friend after heroically saving Empress Celene's life as well as indulging in her scandalous love affair. 

This had little to do with him thwarting unwanted wandering hands for the rest of the evening. His growing desire to pull a few limbs out of the sockets was luckily foiled by Florianne revealing her hand. The following madness and being given free reign to blast villains to pieces alleviated some of his wrathful impulses towards the elite Orlais society. 

"Dorain. Come in please."

The door opened at once almost like Cullen had been listening to his quickening breath on the other side. The Commander had changed out of his armour, dressed in black pants and a plain white shirt. The simplicity, the shirt hugging those board shoulders and clinging to the rippling muscles along his arms, suited the blond. Averting his eyes, Dorian smiled. The last thing Cullen needed was another slacked jaw fool gawking at him. 

"Drink?"

"Yes!"

The warrior opened a hidden cache containing an extensive alcohol collection. If one positive thing could have been said about the Winter Palace, it was that they knew luxury. The rooms offered to the Inquisiton top representatives befitted a King. The tastes were not as refined as Tevinter, but not without a considerable style, especially the aged brandy Cullen selected and poured into two broad glasses. 

They've taken generous sips before advancing deeper into the room and Dorian assumed a seat in an armchair. 

"I also wanted to come and see you," Cullen offered since the mage had fallen uncharacteristically silent. Indicative of nervousness, the warrior rubbed the back of his neck as he soldiered on. "I wanted to thank you."

The honey coloured eyes regarding him like a hero raised all sorts of ridiculous impulses disconnected from his head. If the blond managed to look any more handsome, Dorian was doomed to do something foolish. 

"Thank me to be offered an opportunity to imbue manners onto the superficial puppets? Always a pleasure, Commander. It is I who must thank you," he set the bandy glass onto a coffee table between them and made a motion to rise. 

"Stay."

One word was enough for his knees to give in. Dorian sunk against the unbearably pulpy pillows that pulled him in like the quicksand. 

"Chess?"

"Yes."

Trapped as he was, Dorian was unable to suppress an impulse to track every step as Cullen made way to a cabinet where the chessboard was stored. 

"I also wanted to let you know that some things from my past will always be there. They no longer control me, but that doesn't mean they cannot bring occasional pain. Today, the atmosphere triggered memories. I am grateful that someone helped me regain control over them." 

Delicately, Cullen placed the board between them and opened it. Black and white marble pieces glittered in the unlocked box. The warmth in his voice caressed Dorian's senses. 

"This person is you."

The underlying vulnerability made it impossible to turn the confession into a joke once more. In the fallen silence they both reached for the white king. While it had been Dorian's turn the last time, he always contested if only for the pleasure of seeing the warrior flustered. 

Cullen's hand dropped atop of his that clutched the piece. Mutely, Dorian stared their linked hands. The blond was not shying away from the accidental contact. Eventually, the mage had to look up and see his face. They were extremely close. A fetching blush coloured his companion's cheeks. Still, he refused to withdraw. 

"I believe you've made your move," gently like in a dream Cullen told him. "It is my turn." 

The piece cut into Dorian's palm as the blond leaned closer. Their lips touched. Tentatively at first, they connected anew sparking fervour. The pieces scattered once their tongues met. The handfuls of that crisp shirt were crumpled and dropped onto the floor along with Doran's gold treaded attire. 

The bed muffled their fall and his moans. Dorian revelled at the weight against his back and at the sensual explosion of his partner reviving what it meant to share bodily pleasure. The mage ruptured in ecstasy accepting his lover's seed. 

They lay breathless and intertwined, listening to each others' heartbeats.

"If only you'd know, how long I've wanted to do this," Cullen whispered pressing kisses into his hair.

Dorian captured those sweet, elusive lips in a lengthily kiss. "If only you'd know how many more times I want to do this," he returned playfully. 

Humming in contentment, the blond snuggled against him like a promise to hold him to that offer. How this man managed to slip into his mistrustful heart, Dorian knew not, but he was freely offering the permission for Cullen to remain there. All he knew was that his heart was beating with love and it was forever taken.


End file.
